Blood Bond
by Project 0506
Summary: The purple eyes hurt him worse than the silver ones ever could, and that's all Hisoka can remember. Muraki takes the boy in as his new charge, and the twisted games begin. Hisoka, Muraki. Prologue to future story
1. Chapter 1

Yoko Matsushita I am not. How do you say please, please, please don't sue me, I'm allergic to the legal system in Yoda-ese?

xx

"He's not coming." The trembling whispers fell heavily on cold concrete floors: stumbling, rolling, finding no catch that they might stay. "He won't come." Mismatched silver eyes dominated his view. _'They should be purple.'_ The thought disconnected and tumbled with the spoken words, saying everything, meaning nothing.

"That's right Hisoka. He won't come rescue you this time." A hand, warmed from the pulse of blood beneath its skin but yet still so frighteningly cold, rested on his flushed forehead. "He hates you."

"You..." They were so difficult, words. Distant and taunting, coagulating in a cloud just beyond his finger-tips. "You're lying."

"Think what you want. You can trust no one but yourself now." And he was right. Inside the chaos huddled a core, tightly bound, tangible, thoughts that didn't flit away when he reached for them. _'He hurt me. I ran. He's not coming.'_

"Why?" He choked out from his tightened throat. _'Why aren't these eyes purple?'_

"Rest now," the voice soothed. That wasn't right either. It should hurt. That voice, he knew, should be torment beyond the physical. Strands of pain... something about tiny wires of pain criss-crossing his whole body. This he knew was truth; this he could hold.

"I hate you." A statement. The purple eyes '_They should be here'_ were not truth. Confusion, secrets, the eyes that always hid something, were lost in the swiftly whirling kaleidoscope of colors.

Silver.

Blood.

Pain.

A scream: a guttural, animal sound frightened him. He twisted away, yet did not move. Icy shards pierced him, trapping his writhing form against a chest far too warm to be real.

"You always did expect the worst of me, didn't you boy?"

Silver, pale and threatening in the shadows. Blood darkening the purest white. Pain, distant and primal drawing tears _'They can't be mine.'_ and screams _'That's not my voice.'_ This, at least, was truth.

xxx

There was something beautiful about blood. There was something that blood did: the way it etched out the gentle lines of muscle, the way it possessively claimed his every crevice, something about his blood made him seem perfectly at ease as if ... _'As if his body was made only to bleed.'_

The young man... the _child_ stilled, golden head pressed tightly to the lab coat. Contorted fingers buried into the coat sleeves, twisting into fabric and skin. Another wave of pain shuddered through him. He had been expecting this. He had _asked_ for this.

Muraki smiled, slowly drawing long needles from under delicate skin. Blade wounds, needle pricks, all closed leaving naught but a memory of red as a mark.

"Boy."

Beautiful green eyes turned up to him, eyes that reminded of light, and life and everything good. Eyes that were even more beautiful when sparkling with tears, he noted.

"Can you think now?"

A hesitant nod, a flinch when the man moved, a sigh of relief when no pain encased him.

"Then ask."

"Who am I?"

"Hisoka Kurosaki."

"Who are you?"

"Kazutaka Muraki."

He was unsatisfied with his answer. "Who are you to me?"

"Your killer. The obsession you cannot escape."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You should not." Briefly the boy mulled his words.

"Purple eyes..."

Muraki smiled. Precise fingers traced the edges of the boys face, and tilted his head up to meet his gaze. "Do you want me to take you to him?" He loved it. He loved the shiver that coursed through the child's frame. He loved the flash of fear in those eyes.

"No."

"Why not?"

"He hurt me."

"More than I did?" The gold boy dropped his gaze, and Muraki had his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Oppressive heat curled lazily around him, lethargic and cat-like, refusing to be displaced by even the highest setting of the ancient air conditioner. The unit coughed and wheezed, spitting out a puff of smoke before trailing off into silence.

The glare Hisoka focused on the air conditioning unit was filled with all the hate he could muster.

"I'm so sorry! I'll... I'll get someone to fix that right away sir!"

"Don't bother," he murmured, sending the waitress into another bout of apologies. He stood shakily, leaving a crumpled, sweaty wad of bills on the table.

"Sir? Are you al-" The door slammed on the waitress's concern with an odd sort of finality and a tinkling of the antique bell over the door jam. She glanced down: sitting a-top the crisp, white tablecloth was a nearly untouched cinnamon roll. "He only took a bite..."

xx

He could see the waves of sweltering heat reflecting off the pavement. The world blurred into indistinguishable looming images and thoughts of one voice. _'It's so hot!'_ Hisoka winced as a pair of school girls brushed past him, their mental opinions of the heat merely adding to the boy's torment. _'Stop! It hurts enough for just me. I don't need your discomfort too.'_

Murmurs, barely audible complaints that weren't his tugged at the corner of his mind, quietly, insistently demanding attention. The voices grew from a whisper to a clamor, and he found his certainty of self slipping. _'Which one is me?'_

_'I can feel them_ Hisoka realized with a start, almost at the same time he realized _'I don't want to feel them.'_ The voices were not just voices. They were people. But not words, not even thoughts, something far more primal than thoughts.

_'Stop!'_ A quiet moan tore from his lips as he mashed his palms to the side of his head.

"Hey? Are you alright?" _Impatience. Distraction._

"Water! Does anyone have water?" _Worry. Fear._

"Get him somewhere cool!" _Anxiety. Nervousness. Curiosity. Hesitance. Indecisiveness. _

They crowded him, each trying to outdo the other in their bid to be noticed.

"It's fine." He managed over the howlings in his mind. His knees shook at the obvious lie, and it was only his white-knuckled grip on a railing that kept him from pitching forward. "Just need...to get out of the sun."

Gentle hands helped him to a seat, and gentle voices warned him to take care. He replied, probably politely and with a smile, but he couldn't quite hear what it was he said. His own voice apparently was of no great import in the company of someone else's mind.

His hands clenched, and trickles of blood dripped from perfect half-moons where his nails bit into the skin of his palm. The voices faded with the helpers' retreating footsteps and Hisoka buckled, slumping against the warm wall of the rest-area. Proximity: nearness to someone made it worse. He would have to remember that.

The vending machine chugged unpromisingly but soon enough a can tumbled into the holder at the bottom, followed by the soft clinks of falling yen. Hisoka ignored the change and snatched the can desperately. He didn't care what it was; he had simply jabbed at a random button after all. The important thing was that it was cold. He gasped as the first touch of cold slammed against his forehead. With a hiss he yanked the can away, glaring at it as if it was the can's fault. It was a few seconds before he replaced it, more carefully this time. His eyes fluttered shut and he stood there unmoving except to wipe away the drops of condensation that wound down to the end of his nose. He almost laughed at how utterly ridiculous he must look.

_'Was I always like this?'_ The boy wondered. _'Did simple things like time alone or a cold can of,'_ he checked the label, _'coffee-milk make me happy?'_ There really was no way to be sure, at least not yet. He would remember soon, he was sure of it.

Hisoka didn't feel the wafting emotions warning him of someone's approach. He was completely distracted by his attempts to remember some other things he liked to notice the tentative brush transform until it had almost enveloped him. They all struck him simultaneously: disbelief, relief, caution, happiness, wariness... a literal torrent of feeling. Hisoka shivered, clenching his teeth against the pain. How could one person feel so much? Who could...

He turned and saw only purple eyes.

"Hisoka?"

xx

Notes: Chap 2 already written, chap 3 halfway through. They sort of run into each other so... as soon as I edit something I'll put it up. I like this method of quick updates... All will be revealed shortly! Thanks to all who reviewed!


	3. Chapter 3

"_Hisoka?"_

Silent stillness crept over the pebbled ground and settled around them absolutely, as if Life itself was unwilling to interfere.

"Hisoka? Is that really..." He wore black so dark light hesitated to touch him, and chose to weave around him instead. Sweat embraced his skin, trapping damp clumps of dark-brown hair against a lightly tanned face, but still he wore a jacket that brushed his ankles. His lips parted for a moment: desperate to be heard but unsure of the words. He took a step forward, just enough to be clear of the noonday sun's glare, and broke into a wide grin. "'Soka! You're alright! You're really-"

"Stay back."

The towering man gazed questioningly, his eyes mesmerizing. Hisoka found he had to tear his gaze away in order to even think. "Hisoka? What's wrong? It's me. I've been looking all over for you. You've been gone for a week, I mean..." His voice rumbled soothingly, the power to ease the strain of the boy's clenched fingers and taut muscles dominant in his words. He inched forward with the skill of one used to handling skittish creatures. "I know you were mad at me..." The blond boy matched him step for step, advance for retreat, until solid wall hindered him.

"Stay back!"

The man moved, and the can of coffee-milk soared harmlessly by his head and thudded against a post. It sat uselessly, mocking..._ 'You're defenseless now.'_ Hisoka's legs, weakened from the sun, gave, and, with a moan, he slid to the floor.

"Hisoka." Gravel and dried grass crackled softly beneath black shoes as he took another small step forward, his dark form now looming above the boy. "It's alright Hisoka. I'm here now. Just calm down and we can..." Another step forward. Their eyes locked, and it came, a flaming rain of emotions scorching in its intensity. It flooded his veins, invading every cell, overpowering every private thought. He could no longer distinguish one emotion from another, or his thoughts from the rest. _'Those eyes'_ felt as if they were looking right into him, as if skin was merely an inconvenience to be seared away.

Hisoka felt the darkness rising up inside him: his mind's desperate attempt to defend itself by shutting down. _'Help me...' _Crystal tears threatened at the edge of his eyes. "Help me..." Now even his voice deserted him. Without thought, for he was no longer capable of it, his lips formed a single word.

The man with the purple eyes sucked in a breath, the name a word-spell to freeze his fingers before they brushed gold locks.

Muraki.

"How shameful Mister Tsuzuki. And in public no less."

Hisoka gasped, the frigid words dousing him.

"Muraki," The man snarled, his mind echoing his fury. His thoughts pulled back slightly: they had something else to focus on now.

_'Muraki. Why did you come?'_

xx

It was their banter that he looked forward to at their meetings. It was the range of expressions, the myriad of feeling in his eyes that made their encounters interesting. So quickly, so easily he abandoned one emotion for another, how simple were the words that could control the dark-haired shinigami.

Tsuzuki was an instrument: a beautifully crafted, delicate creation with a awe-inspiring beauty. In the hands of a master his song could be intoxicating. And Muraki understood. Muraki knew how to pluck chords that would cause heady anger to explode.

He answered the man's demands with practiced ease, merely playing arpeggios. No, he was not up to anything sinister. No, he was not stalking them. No, he had no intention of creating a scene in public.

Slowly he drew out the first few tentative notes.

"You seem to be having trouble with your partner."

"That is _none_ of your concern!"

Carefully he caressed the melody: there is no pleasure if it ends too quickly. He waited until he could see the tremors of rage rippling beneath the thick black coat, until he could feel the sweetness of fear on the tip of his tongue.

"Boy," He called quietly, turning his gaze on the crouched child. He smiled, reveling in the confusion on the dark-haired shinigami's face. No doubt his pain would be as sweet.

The music crescendoed, frantically exploding in his ears.

"Hisoka. Come to me."

_xxxxxx_

Note: I have made a huge decision about this fic. I had intended it to be full length but since it is description driven rather than action driven, it's really hard to read and harder to write if it is more than a few pages. So I will use this story as a prologue for a story about Muraki and Hisoka, the sort of emotion-based background so to speak.Wish me luck!


	4. Chapter 4

"_Hisoka. Come to me."_

It was both a command, and a choice. The doctor would hurt him, there was no question in that. He knew well the small blade in Muraki's coat pocket. And somehow he knew the man in front of him was a wall; no one, not even Muraki, could pass through if he did not wish it. He knew that to remain would be to avoid more pain. But to remain meant...

His eyes rose to the man's... Tsuzuki's... back and an intimate panic filled his chest. A sound, an unidentifiable, wordless groan tore from inside him, and he shoved himself forward. He ran until he could move no more, trapped in a white, icy embrace. He winced and bit his tongue against the pain, the shock radiating from the dark man.

"Muraki. Muraki you _bastard!_ What did you do to him!"

xx

"Answer me, damn you!"

Charged air whirled heatedly around the three, ripping at clothes and hair, pregnant with destructive intent. "This? I'm afraid, Mister Tsuzuki, that this is not my work."

A distant prickling heralded the notice of the Shikigami, roiling beneath the layers of this world in their desperation to answer their master's rage.

"I will not play your games Muraki!" Tsuzuki's voice, a shaking cacophony of forced calm, swept round them.

With mock tenderness the doctor drew the boy to himself, wrapping the heated body in the cool relief of his jacket. "All I did was indulge in a little..." Tsuzuki hissed, anguished, eyes screwed shut to block out the red that bubbled to the surface of smooth, pale skin. "...bloodletting." The dark-haired man's spells slammed relentlessly against them, a nuisance more than a threat against the doctor's shields. The child, his doll, made no sound. Once, twice, thrice he cut; long narrow trails down a trembling arm. "Needing external pain to distract his mind from internal pain: so intricately, wholly _human_. He's almost an acceptable replacement for you Mister Tsuzuki. His suffering is almost as satisfying."

Liquid ease drew more ofuda to the shinigami's hand, but the gesture was as empty. He could try no stronger spells; he would risk no move that would harm the boy. "It's ironic isn't it Mister Tsuzuki? How sad, that you're the only person who could hurt him this badly."

The shinigami snarled, and for the briefest of moments the monster's heritage that lurked behind those beautiful eyes reared, barely constrained. Air and leaf and rock snapped, alive with electric anger.

"Get away from him!"

"You're always so emotional Mister Tsuzuki. It must be painful to have to work with you, to have to feel everything you feel magnified. I wonder, what was it you said to him? What emotion could you have possibly felt that would be strong enough to nearly destroy the poor boy's mind?"

Silent realization unfolded in startled purple eyes.

"Ah. So you finally remember your sin?"

xx

"_Hisoka! I told you to stay behind!"_

"_Stop treating me like a kid. I could have handled it."_

xx

"You were angry at him, weren't you?"

"He... he could have been hurt. I was... what if..."

xx

"_Don't you understand how I feel when I have to come rescue you?"_

"_Then don't come! No one asked you to. I __said__ I could handle it."_

xx

"You never were any good and controlling your emotions."

"I didn't know... I didn't realize that..."

xx

"_You're deliberately twisting my words!"_

"_Tsuzuki stop!"_

"_No, you're going to listen to me, damn you! Even if it's just a routine job you can't just go running off on your own like that!"_

"_Let go of me!"_

"_You're an empath. You can tell what I'm feeling. You know how I feel about you."_

"_It's too much! Stop! Tsuzuki, I can't..."_

"_You know how much I love..._

xx

"Such simple words," he murmured into his broken doll's hair. "Such simple words to create such gratifying music. Don't you think so, Hisoka?" But his doll had no words of his own to speak. "Perhaps this is why. Perhaps this is why I know that even when I allow him to wander from me, that he will return." Fluidly he swept the boy into his arms. "Perhaps it is because he knows that I will never love him."

They escaped on a simple, single word transport spell. The park, the sun, the fury faded into aseptic, florescent white of the doctor's laboratory around them. The ground where they once stood collapsed into a blackened pocket of ash. In his dormant heart Muraki could feel the vibrations: the roar of despair from a man in a distant rest-area, and he smiled.

_'I will keep him.'_ He draped the child across a couch, smirking at the little doll he had found wandering and disoriented. _'I will keep him just so you will keep singing for me, Tsuzuki.'_

xx

The End.

In a manner of speaking... see note in previous chapter... who am I kidding? Even I'm too lazy to go back a page.

_I plan to use this as a prologue to a full length instead of as a full length story since it will get tiresome to read after a while. It's far too pretty to throw away. And I never discard anything that someone has reviewed. That's just... rude._


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